


Battle at Dawn

by Huntchaser



Series: Private Leroy Jethro Gibbs: WW1 British Soilder AU [3]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, World War 1, war battle, written based on experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntchaser/pseuds/Huntchaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of Private Leroy Jethro Gibbs: WW1 Soldier AU<br/>"The date is March 14. It is dark out and I hear many voices in the trenches. The sun has yet to rise and there is already chaos among the troops."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This should be the last part unless my teacher finds the letter home portion of the assignment. I hope you enjoyed! this battle is actually written based on the battle reenactment I did at school so it's kinda strange to say the least.

The date is March 14. It is dark out and I hear many voices in the trenches. The sun has yet to rise and there is already chaos among the troops. I hear the lieutenants and captain yelling commands. I know the commands are meant for the soldiers, like myself, but I have been assigned something else by the Colonel after our last encounter in the woods. I was to write an account of the battle. I felt like I should have argued with him, but I did not. He knows that my handwriting is nice enough to be ledgible to anyone who reads it. That is why I was assigned liaison to the newspaper writers and radio reporters on most cases when I was on the police force before the war. I hate the reporters though. I think they just do their jobs for the gossip. I know that Tim, my friend, wanted to be a journalist because he loved to write and I hope that that there are journalists like that.   
I hear a yell and then I hear stomping and footsteps. I look up from my notebook and see men running out of the trench. I’m not a religious person myself, but I hope that the men who are prayed for their safety and wellbeing. The men in squads one and two are on a suicide mission and they know that, but I hope that they make it out alive.   
I look to see Rory. He is nervous and he is carrying a large load grenades. He hopes that none of them explode and I know that they won’t, but I cannot tell him. He knows as well as I do that he probably will not make it back.   
“Rory!” I shout. I wave at him and run over to him.   
“Hello, L.J.!” Rory says. He shuffles his feet. “Why don’t you have a weapon or artillery?” He looks at me and his eyebrows crease in confusion.   
I look at him and sigh: “I have orders to stay back and write an account of the battle for the press. I am a liaison.”   
Rory looks at me glumly. “Oh…” His eyes hazel darken, almost the same color as the black sky.   
I place my hand on his shoulder and squeeze it lightly. “Sorry, mate.” I say, not knowing what else to say. I gulp nervously and it feels like I’m trying to fit a boulder down a thin metal pipe.   
Rory nods and smiles falsely at me. I know that he knows that the Colonel assigned it to me. He told the Colonel that I should have that position because the media is getting agitated with the lack of news. “That’s alright.” Rory sighs. “I’ll make it back. I promise you that, Leroy.”   
I forcefully laugh, trying to lighten the mood of the trenches. Rory laughs as well, but his is nervous and not comforting. He is afraid and I am too. I wave goodbye to Rory and wish him well. He runs off with his -our- squad and I see those who I trained with for so long, prepare themselves for the cold embrace of death. I hope that he keeps his promise.   
I sigh as I sit in the trenches, right behind a wall of sandbags. Time passes slowly like a snail crawling from point A to point B. I see the sun begin to rise and I look over the top of the trench. The sky is red like the blood of my comrades who have left to No Man’s Land. I keep scribbling words on the page in front of me, not even knowing what I am writing. My thoughts are all over the place and I only hope what is being written makes sense.  
My brother is among those men. Michael is a good soldier and he follows his orders. I hope that he survives as well. I would hate to tell Mom and my step-father that he is dead. He is too young to die, only 19, just out of school. I love him dearly and I wish him well. I pray for him, even though I do not really believe in God. I know that he will appreciate it. I remember when I took him hunting the first time and taught him how to shoot. It seems like so long ago, millions of years away even, but I know it was only a few years back. I cringe at the memory but I do not know why but my head hurts while thinking about it.   
Suddenly I hear a scream and it snaps me out of my thoughts. I look over the top of the trench and fear strikes me like an arrow to the heart. The scream sounds familiar and I worry. I run out over the top, nervously and clumsily climbing the rocky wall. My helmet bounces on my head, sweat causing my matted brown hair to stick to it. I see no medics around so I keep running. I stop suddenly. I am almost hit by a bullet before I dive out of the way. I can feel the bullet slicing the air right next to me. If I hadn’t moved I probably would have been with my fallen comrades and my wife; dead.   
I see my target and slowly make my way toward it. “Rory!” I yelp. I crawl on the ground towards him and skittishly sit up next to him. “Rory, talk to me! Are you okay?” I know that he is not okay. He has been hit in the chest and I want to cry out, but I cannot.   
“Hey, Leroy.” Rory laughs and winces in pain. “I’m fine. What are you doing? You should be back behind the trench.”  
I sigh and look at Rory: “I thought I heard Michael. I was worried and then I saw you.” I admit. “You’ll get a long leave for this, you know? You’ll get to see your family. They’ll be glad to see you alive and well.”   
Rory’s eyes seem to darken, but unlike before, in grief. “I’m not going home, Leroy. I’m going to die.” I feel tears prick my eyes and I hope Rory doesn’t see them. “Tell O’Donobain I’ll miss him, the grumpy bastard. And write to my mom, alright?”  
I nod slowly. “Ye-Yes, alright.” I stutter. I pat his arm. “I’ll see you later, Rory. Godspeed.”   
“Right, see you later, Leroy.” Rory manages to say with his last breath. I close his eyes when he stops breathing and he looks so peaceful. I think back to my brother and I know that he is too far away from where I am and it is unsafe. I rush back to the trenches and shiver as I sit down behind the trench. My head is spinning again when I sit down and it is because I have seen too many people close to me die. I feel sick and I throw up, but nothing comes out.  
It is a while longer, but then I hear the orders for retreat. The British troops come back to the trenches, some of them uninjured but more of them injured or dead. Only four men from my squadron, including myself, are alive. I do not see Michael among them and I know that Rory or Lieutenant Scott are not among them. I choke back another sob for my friends and comrades. I feel like a coward compared to them. I sat in the trenches the whole time, writing away, as they were out serving their country.  
I overhear from another man that we lost the battle. Their lives were wasted! Those of my comrades who died, they died for nothing but a strip of land! I turn and see one man who is alive and I see his face, bloody and bruised. I reach up to my face and notice that Rory’s blood is on my hands. I close my hand in a fist and slam my notebook and pencil on the ground. I hate that I am alive and unharmed! I should at least be injured! I did nothing! I just sat there, shaking like a leaf. I try to swallow again, but my mouth and throat are desert dry. I slide down the wall of the trench into a sitting position.  
My friends and family are dead. I am wishing I am dead. I feel dead inside. I do not wish to tell O’Donobain that Rory will miss him. I do not wish to tell my mother that her youngest son is dead. I do not wish to go home and cry when I see the docks where Michael and I played as children; where Shannon and Kelly died. I wish to be with them: my brother, wife, daughter, friends, and comrades. I know though, that they want me to live. And I will follow through with that. As a last gift to them, I will live.   
“You are not alone.” I hear the wind whisper in Rory’s voice.   
“I know.” I say quietly. “I know.”


End file.
